


Biological Imperative

by Aewin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Worship, Come Inflation, Desperation, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Horn Stimulation, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Itching Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nook Eating, Pheromones, Psionic Bondage, Public Sex, Recuperacoon Sex, Shower Sex, Xeno, failsex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a late bloomer at nine sweeps, and you don't yet have a concupiscent quadrant filled. This leaves you alone and self-pailing for the duration of your mating cycle—at least, that was the <i>idea</i>. When Karkat bursts in on you, it sort of throws off your plans for the week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grimreaperchibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimreaperchibi/gifts).



> I recently ran a 100-follower fic giveaway on my [tumblr](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com) (nsfw), and the winner was [grimreaperchibi](http://grimreaperchibi.tumblr.com) with the following prompt:
>
>> Solkat in which Sollux has gone into heat and has been hiding until Karkat finds him. Includes a lot of flipping between being lovey and forcefully taking what’s needed on both sides.
> 
>   
> It's a lovely prompt and I hope to do it justice. I, uh. Kind of got carried away. 

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you have a problem.

Well, you have a _lot_ of problems, but they’re not always quite so visceral. This is the third time today that you’ve found yourself wrist-deep in your nook, and that’s a little excessive even for you. Once a day is normal. Twice a day is nice. But three times in a day and you’re starting to suspect something is wrong, particularly because you can’t bring yourself to just step out of the damn ablution trap and _stop._ And you’re not sure if you really _want_ to or not. You’re no stranger to having parts of your mind warring with each other over stupid shit, but this feels different, like the normally-disparate halves of your subconscious have teamed up and are trying to overpower the two small conscious bits that have been cast adrift in an ocean of thoughts and are now clinging to _oh god why can’t I stop_ like it’s a life raft. And that’s not good, because you’ve seen _Troll Titanic, etc._ thanks to Karkat, so you know that when there are two people and one floating object, someone isn’t going to make it.

Fuck it. It feels amazing, at least half of you wants it, and you really don’t have anything better to do, so you let your head fall back against the wall as your bulge twines through your fingers. The fingers in your nook finally manage to bump up against your shame globes, and the shock makes you chirp and arch up for easier access, making the water in the trap slosh around noisily. You stroke up between your globes, and _fuck_ that feels nice, makes you clench around your fingers, nnn maybe you should try—oh, hell _yes_ you’re going to try it—

Psionics buzz to life in your hands, gently pulsing around your bulge and in your nook, and when you stroke that spot again the vibrations are too much. Your toes curl, your breath stops, and your entire body shivers in release. You’re drenched with genetic material, some of it dripping off of you to cloud the water yellow, and you are so fucking glad you did this in the ablution trap—

Wait. Material?

Oh, fuck.

You know what this is now, and you should be grateful that it’s finally happening, but it’s going to be hell until it’s over. How long do mating cycles usually last, anyways? If it’s anywhere over a few days your hands are going to be stained yellow for a perigee. You briefly consider asking Karkat what to do since he went through this last sweep, but he seemed to be functioning normally at the time, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut rather than give him another excuse to make fun of you. Right. Troll Wikipedia it is, then.

You shower quickly to wash off the material and sweat that’s amassed on you over the night, and briefly consider grabbing something to drink before abandoning the idea in favor of research. You don’t have a clue how long you’ll have before that irresistible _need_ surges through you again, and you need to know as much as you can to handle this on your own. It’s been two sweeps since you saw the schoolfeeding module on this; they show it at seven since most trolls go into heat for the first time when they’re eight, but leave it to you to be a stupid little snowflake. This could have been _over_ by now.

The world spins a bit when you drop into the chair in front of your husktop. Dizziness is probably another stupid side effect or something. Your Trollian window is flashing with messages from Karkat, but you ignore them. No sense in tempting fate—if you don’t talk to him, you can’t accidentally give yourself away. You open your browser in private mode (like hell you’re leaving evidence of this on your husktop) and search Troll Wikipedia for mating cycles, scrolling down past all the introductory stuff until you come to the section on length.

A fucking _week?_ God, this sounds like it’s going to be more of a trial than the brooding caverns. That’s gonna be a lot of pails, and you only have a few stashed away in preparation for this. You groan, because you can see how this is going to go already. Pail, clean said pail, be ready to pail again. Maybe you should just spend the week in the ablution trap. Oh, and apparently, the urge comes more often if you don’t have a partner around to emit the appropriate pheromones. Great. Just great. Evolutionary mechanisms designed to drive you out of your fucking mind until you pail with an actual person. You don’t _have_ an actual person, so biology can suck your chapped, bifurcated bulge as far as you’re concerned.

Except that thinking of having sex with someone seems to have aroused you enough for the tips of your bulge to be squirming out of your sheath again. God fucking nook-pailing bulge-chafing _damn it._

You throw your keyboard down in disgust. _Fuck you very much, body! So glad to see you hate me as much as I hate you!_

Your hand is already drifting downward without your permission, so you head to your respiteblock and uncover your short stack of pails. _Five_. Five of them won’t last you half a day at this rate, so you take them all.

The best place to do this is probably your recreation block, at least until the pails are full and you switch over to the ablution trap, and you set yourself up in as much style as you can manage with your body’s insistent reminders to _stop, touch, pail._ You actually put some porn on this time, a kinky ashen threesome that would probably have gotten the trolls involved culled before the new Empress came to power. If you’re going to be doing this all week, you might as well do your best to enjoy it, right? You slip earbugs in to appease the neighbors, and settle yourself against the plush reclining platform to shimmy out of your pants.

The entrance to your nook is swollen and sensitive, and it takes no effort at all for you to slip a few fingers inside, though you’re going to have to find something else to use in the next day or two, because your hand is cramped like you slept with it in a curved-tuber-chip can. It feels fine to your _nook_ though; the slick, squishy slide further into you makes you bite your lip and wonder who the hell threw a party in your genitals and didn’t invite the rest of you.

Your bulge is agitated and thrashing around near the hem of your shirt like it’s trying to get your attention, and it’s honestly kind of annoying, but there’s no way you’re stopping to take the shirt off at this point. You compromise by gripping the fabric with your teeth to keep it out of the way. It makes it much easier to seize your rogue bulge and run your thumb along the sensitive divide. The halves wrap around your thumb and squeeze, making you moan, and you almost drop the shirt. Why does everything have to be such a federal fucking _issue_ today?

Shifting a bit gets you into a comfortable enough position that you can actually start watching the screen while you palm yourself. The actors are so loud in your eargrubs that it’s like they’re actually moaning in your ear, and you shut your eyes, imagining a warm mouth against you, a wet nook instead of your hand, a bulge instead of fingers. You wonder what it would actually be like to have someone inside of you; if it’s really that much better or if you’re just idealizing it in your inexperience.

The sound of material splashing into a pail fills your ears, and you snap your eyes open to watch, squeezing yourself firmly. There’s always been something irresistibly sexy about seeing two colors swirling together, and when the auspistice’s green joins the red and blue it almost pushes you over the edge. You’re panting heavily now, sweat dripping from your hair, but you’re _so close_ you can almost taste it.

And then Karkat opens your door.

He drops his communicrab when he sees you, and it goes scuttling off into your nutrition block. He smells like need and fulfillment and comfort to your traitorous subconscious, and instinct guides you to spread your legs further and jut your hips out, presenting your nook and bulge as you fuck yourself to completion. It feels _right_ to expose yourself and chirp obscenely at him like this, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?

His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and his eyes flick down and back up. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to spark release, and your genetic material spills hot and thick into your lap as he slams the door shut and turns away from you.

Fuck, he’s not going to leave, is he?

Welp.


	2. Override

Uh. What’s acceptable protocol for when your best friend walks in on this? Fuck, you don’t know acceptable social protocol for _anything_ , so you’ll go with option A: saying what’s actually running through your head.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I could convince you to open the door, walk through it, shut it, and forget this ever happened?”

Your answer is the repeated thumping of his head against the door, and the fact that he didn’t take the easy out means your suspicions are confirmed: for whatever reason, he’s staying. You should probably work on that clothing thing sometime soon, but that could be a problem because your shirt is soaked and your pants will wind up in the same situation if you put them on again. Right now, you’re sure the entire evolutionary history of trollkind was geared towards making this moment as awkward as possible for you. Screw your entire race, seriously.

It’s probably better to have pants on than a shirt, so you take the eargrubs out and slide your dripping shirt off. Considering how often you tend to have near-death experiences, you should probably be used to blood and other bodily fluids by now, but it’s still kinda gross when it falls in your eyes like this, ew. There’s enough dry space left to clean up your lap enough that you won’t completely ruin your pants if you put them on again, so you do.

Karkat still hasn’t said anything, but he’s stopped assaulting the door with his nubby little horns. You clear your throat.

“Seriously, KK—”

“No.”

“But—”

“NO. You look like shit, Sollux, what the fuck?”

You grit your teeth at that. “Bullshit. You wish you were this fuckable. Lusii will soon be knocking on my door and begging that I consider their trolls for a quadrant.”

He laughs, and it’s an _honest_ enough laugh that you’re actually offended. “Sollux, you look so disastrous right now that your _hand_ wouldn’t fuck you again.”

A low growl rumbles in your throat, but he cuts you off before you can say anything.

“Go wash out your scratched-up nook, globefondler.”

“Oh, like hell—”

“ _Now,_ or I march you into the ablution trap myself, and I think we’d both like to avoid that at this horrifying juncture in our timelines.”

You’re still angry at him, but the chance to _get away from this_ has you absconding rather hastily to the ablution block, and you stare at the trap glumly once you’re in. It’s only been an hour or so, yet here you are—marinating in your own juices again. Maybe if you just stay in here, he’ll go away. To that end, you fill it with water again rather than running a shower, and sink dejectedly under the surface, head and all. You may or may not be wishing that this was the actual ocean, on the off-chance that a seadweller might rise from the depths and put you out of your misery.

What the hell is he even doing here, seriously? Does he have some sort of internal alarm that goes off when it’s an inconvenient time to bug you? You’re already getting a proximity headache and he’s only been here for five minutes. You’re no stranger to those, so you know that a scalp massage will help, and you might as well wash your hair while you’re at it. Water drips into your eyes as you sit up and reach for the gelatinous keratin detergent, and that’s probably a good thing because you still had a bit of material smeared on your eyelid, ugh. KK’s right, you _are_ a disgusting mess today.

You loosen up almost immediately when your lathered-up fingers sink into your hair. Unfortunately your head isn’t the only affected bit—your seedflap and bulge sheath are starting to relax too. _Fine. You win. I’ll deal with the fucking headache instead._ You only keep your hands on yourself long enough for a (very) brief wash, especially when you stroke over your horns with the lather and accidentally trill in response. What the hell? They’ve never been this sensitive before. Just another amazing perk, courtesy of your overactive anatomy. Whatever. You’ll keep your hands to yourself, your mouth shut, and _all_ of yourself safely in here, away from Karkat. You settle back into the steamy water and enjoy the warmth spreading through your body as your eyelids droop lower and lower. The rising steam makes the room swirl erratically around you, and you shut your eyes to make it stop.

A loud banging against the door startles you, and you bump your head on the wall as you splash around reflexively.

“Sollux Fucking Captor, I don’t _care_ if you are five hundred percent nude and euphorically riding the Empress herself in there, I swear I will bust this door in if a certain scrawny-ass pubescent—that’s you, dipshit—doesn’t answer me in the next ten goddamn seconds.”

You blink. The fuck?

“The hell do you want, KK?” Standing up creates a mini tidal wave in the trap, and you eye it carefully for overflow as you toe the plug out of place. Score, not a drop spilled. That makes a total of one thing that’s gone right today, and it may be small, but you’ll take anything positive you can get at this point.

“What do I _want?_ I want a billion fucking caegars and gorgeous, charming quadrantmates, but it appears I’ll have to settle for begging the great and mighty Sollux Captor not to die on me. For the second time this sweep, might I add.”

You tie a towel firmly around your waist and open the door. Karkat falls forward and almost crashes into you, but manages to avoid untimely half-nude towel-dropping escapades, thank fuck. You cross your arms.

“Really? Because I was doing great in here by myself.”

His face twists in confusion. “You’ve been in there fifty fucking minutes, Sollux, and you didn’t answer a damn thing. How the hell is that okay? Last time you pulled this shit you actually fell asleep in the trap.”

“Like hell I did.” You honestly don’t remember that ever happening. And wow, fifty minutes? That felt like twenty.

“You barely managed to get your damn underwear on without my help, and I threw you into your ‘coon. I can’t believe you don’t fucking remember that.”

“To be fair, it sounds like I was completely wasted,” you helpfully point out.

“Yeah, you fucking _were._ That’s the _point!_ That’s _not okay!_ In what world would falling asleep in water _ever_ be okay when you’re not a seadweller!?” He’s baring his teeth at you and his finger keeps jabbing the air about a millimeter from your face. In an effort to defuse the situation, you shoo him out of the room and toward your recreation block. You barely get flopped down on the reclining platform before he grabs your arm and yanks you up again. It only makes you dizzy again.

“Nutrition block, nubhumper. You need water and food. And maybe a nap. You really do look like shit, I’m not fucking exaggerating.” You sigh, and he shoves you forward.

“ _Now_.”

He pushes you into a chair when you get into the block, and you slump into it without objection as he grabs your biggest cup and fills it with water, then shoves it at you.

“Here. Drink.”

You take it without thinking and holy fuck, when did water become the drink of the gods, because this is _amazing._ When you try to lift the glass higher to achieve a better liquid-to-time ratio, Karkat slaps at you until you put it back down and huff at him.

“ _Slower_ ,” he growls. “Upsetting your stomach isn’t going to help you stay in decent condition through this.”

“This?” You take a slower, measured drink this time.

“Your stupid—” he flaps an arm at you and looks at the ceiling in a gesture that clearly says _why me?_ “Your fucking cycle, okay? Even if I hadn’t walked in on _that,_ you reek of pheromones even after washing, and there _was_ a stack of pails hanging out conspicuously in your recreation block when I got here. It doesn’t take a certified thinkpan scienterrorist to figure out what’s going on.”

You shrug before taking another sip of water. Just let him think things are normal, and he’ll go away. Right, because _that_ plan has worked so well for you in the past. “And?”

Incredulous glares are Karkat’s specialty, and he’s unleashing his strongest right now. Oh shit, what the hell did you do? He pinches your arm, and the skin just sort of _stays_ pinched for a second before sliding slowly back into place.

“… _and_ you’re getting dehydrated, you obviously have no fucking clue what you’re doing here.” He starts searching through your cabinets, slamming them loudly when he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for.

“KK, I’m the last to go through this and nobody said a word to me about this crap, I’m pretty sure this is just a one-time _the universe hates Sollux Captor_ deal or something and oh my fucking _god_ would you _stop_ with the loud noises, my head’s about to tear itself apart.”

Karkat turns around and _snarls_ at you. “Trust me, we all went through this. Cycles take material, material takes water. And where the hell do you keep your food? You look like you’re about to faint.”

You point him to the right doors, and you twist to lay your head on your arms against the table. Come to think of it, maybe he’s right. You’re feeling a bit nauseous, and your head is warm against your arm. Fuck.

“You talked to me all week when you had yours, KK. There’s no way you went through _this_. Even if you did all the nutrition stuff right, you’d still be too fucking busy filling pails, if today is anything to go by.”

He pulls a packet of instant grub noodles out of the dark cupboard and starts heating water, but he doesn’t turn around to respond. _Wow_ , he has a nice ass. Oh god. No. No no no no no. Stop right there, Sollux. Bad. No. You squirm in your seat, clamping your thighs together in case you unsheath. Oh, fuck, you wanna tap that right now.

“And who says I wasn’t busy filling pails every time I trolled you?” It’s sarcastic and embarrassed, classic KK, but your nook throbs a bit when you realize that no, he’s not kidding, he probably _was_ pailing himself while he talked to you.

No, bulges. Bulges, stop. What are you doing. Stay where you are. Abort, abort. _Fuck_. How the hell do you gain root access to genitalia?

“Oh.” It’s the most coherent thing you can think to say. Karkat shoves the bowl of noodles onto the table, his face flushed bright red, and it gets him close enough that you get a huge unintentional whiff of the pheromones you smelled off of him earlier. It’s the last straw for your bulge, and it twists its way out so quickly that you whimper a little bit. Plan B, oh god. Fuck. You move your arms off the table and try to surreptitiously hunch over and cover the movement under your towel. It’s way, way harder than it sounds, because a large portion of your brain is trying to convince you to pin him down and nuzzlefuck him.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Karkat is staring at you like you’ve contracted a fungus, and to be honest, that would be a lot less embarrassing. You curl further in on yourself, even though he’s obviously figured out what’s going on. He flicks you on the forehead to recapture your attention, and when you look up he’s frowning. Oh, no. You suddenly have a bad feeling. A _worse_ feeling. Fuck, calling it a premonition of doom wouldn’t be overkill at this point.

“I’m going to preface this by saying that this entire situation is completely normal for every troll and we shouldn’t let it make things weird.”

Oh. Fuck. No.

“But this is worse than I thought, and I’m staying until it’s over.”

All you can do is groan at him as the tips of your bulge manage to plunge into your nook. _Fuck_ , this is so uncool.

“Nuh-uh. Not negotiable. I know you don’t like it when I take care of your sorry ass, but people _die_ from this, Sollux. They forget to eat, forget to drink, forget to sleep. You _already_ do that shit. I’m not leaving you here to rot.”

Right now, you sort of wish he would.


	3. Restraint (and the lack thereof)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I had a busy week. Thank you for all the lovely comments in the interim, they really help perk me up and make me feel like writing more.

You’re fucking yourself in front of your best friend for the second time today, and despite the fact that it’s not as obvious this time, it’s a little worse now because he’s _there_ right in front of you, dripping with confusing sex appeal. Karkat’s never been at the forefront of your fantasies. Sure, you’ve _thought_ of it a few times, but right now it’s taking all you have not to throw yourself on him and ride his bulge to completion. Crap.

“Shit, KK—I can’t—I need to—nn.” You have to get away, fuck. But he’s still practically leaning over you, close enough to touch _oh god he’s really that close maybe if I just—_ you throw your head back with a gasp and arch toward him, gripping the edge of the chair for support. His vivid red eyes are locked onto yours _shit you didn’t pick up your glasses he knows you want him_ and you are almost out of fucks to give, about to rip off the towel and _rub_ yourself on him, _you want it so much—_

He steps back from you and gestures vaguely at the exit without taking his eyes off of you. You should probably be more self-conscious about this than you are, but right now there’s a rush to being watched so intently that overpowers a good deal of the embarrassment you were feeling earlier.

“You should go, ah, take care of that…” His breathing is rapid and _he won’t stop looking at you_ and it’s way harder than it should be to leave him and run to the ablution block, because you don’t really _want_ to. You have to slip your hand under the towel and force your bulges out of your nook to get there, and by the time the door slams shut the towel has practically fallen off from all the movement. It finally slides off your hips as you lurch over to the ablution trap and brace yourself on the wall. Fuck playing games with this any more, you need it _now._

The tips of your bulge curl between your fingers and grip at you harder than you’re actually gripping yourself, squeezing in insistent waves as you stroke the divide with your thumb. _Shit shit shit it’s too much_ , it’s so much it’s _painful_ , fuck. You’ve never used this much pressure there because it’s so sensitive, but right now you just need it as quickly as you can get it. When you press your thumb into the divide you keen at the throbbing it sets off in your nook, and _god,_ you hope Karkat can hear you because this is _all his fucking fault_. If he’s staying he’s going to deal with the fucking repercussions, and oh _yes_ , what if he’s dealing with it in the same way you are, jerking it to you _right now_ on the other side of the wall, fantasizing about what’s triggering each noise. _Nngh that is so hot_. You breathe harder and moan louder. Leave it to you to have an exhibitionist streak. Fuck, you always knew you were twisted, but you never had a chance to discover this particular sick aspect of yourself before _and it’s got you so fucking hot right now._

You stop holding back. When you cry out next it’s on purpose, and you imagine opening yourself up to him again, making him watch as you shudder and moan. Fuck, you wish you were that brave, wish you didn’t have to hold back for his sake, wish you could do this in front of _anyone_ right now, _yes, so close—_

Two more harsh squeezes and you’re spilling hot over your hand, sighing with relief as you milk the last of it out. It lands in the trap with a faint metallic _plink_ that sounds almost exactly like a sound effect in a game you recently played, and the absurdity makes you giggle a bit to yourself as you wash it down the drain.

You slump against the wall to calm down a bit so you don’t go in there and jump him on accident or something. Your head throbs now that the intensity of pailing has stopped distracting you, and you’re starting to really feel like crap again. You’re shaking a little bit, mostly in your hands, and you’re pretty sure that wasn’t a thing before. Shit.

It only takes a few minutes to rinse yourself off and grab fresh clothes from your respite block, and wow, you’ve never been so happy about wearing clean clothing in your life. When you cautiously enter the nutrition block again, Karkat is sitting awkwardly in a chair and gazing at your ceiling while chewing on his lip.

“I kept your nutritionally-inadequate noodles warm for you. I can’t believe you don’t have anything better than that, last time I was here you wouldn’t eat anything but fucking fruit chips.”

You grab the bowl of noodles and start slurping them down. Damn, if there’s one upside to this stupid heat thing, it’s that everything is _better_ than it normally is.

“Yeah, well. Turns out fruit chips confuse the bees, so.” You shrug and start sucking down another strand, splashing a bit of liquid on your face in your hurry. Karkat raises an eyebrow at that.

“ _Yeah, well,_ it turns out you need a lot more than fucking _noodles_ to sustain you during this shit. It’s too late tonight, but we’re going to the store tomorrow and getting you something else.”

Okay, so it’s been a while since you got out. “I _am_ capable of visiting the grocer drones without your help, KK, just as I _am_ capable of feeding and watering myself despite your numerous insinuations that I can’t.”

Fuck this guy for laughing at everything you say today, seriously. He’s an angry little buzzkill right now.

“Nice try, globesqueezer. You have proven—on multiple occasions, might I add—that you cannot take care of yourself, and furthermore, that you have no interest in doing so. Remember a sweep ago, when I came over and you hadn’t eaten in three nights?”

“Hey, I ordered food, it wasn’t my fault it never got here.”

He scoffs. “Yeah it fucking was, there was a stack of pizza boxes outside your door that you hadn’t touched. Why the hell would you call the delivery drones if you’re not gonna let them in?”

Oh. You, uh. Forgot about that part. To be fair, you’re not usually that bad about eating. He’s just over-exaggerating things because he wants to stay. And fuck, you might end up inside of him if he does. You’ve got to get rid of him so you don’t do something stupid.

“You can’t stay, I only have one ‘coon.”

“Bullshit. I know it has two sides because you have a fetish for a fucking _number_ , you creep. And speaking of, you should go to sleep when you finish another glass of water. You still look like a hoofbeast ran over you and took a dump on his way out.”

You drain the glass in one go just to spite him, and retreat to your respite block without saying anything. Sometimes he sinks his teeth into something and won’t let _go,_ and it’s annoying as hell to be on the receiving end like this. Maybe sleep _is_ what you need. It’s the one way to avoid all the stupid fucking problems you have now, so you take your clothes off for what feels like the five hundredth time today and slip into the blue side of your recuperacoon. The soothing, constant drone of your bees takes the edge off the emptiness that you’re feeling, but even they can’t make you entirely forget just how much this week is going to _suck._

—————

When you wake up around noon, writhing and squirming, Karkat is in the red side of the recuperacoon and snoring gently against the rim. Your first thought is that you should self-pail and come all over his obnoxious, overprotective face, but then you remember how hard it is to find red sopor slime and how much you hate draining and refilling the fucking thing. Meh. That’s what you have an ablution trap for. Okay, maybe that’s not it _usual_ purpose, but it seems to have been conscripted into your pailing war this week so you climb out of the ‘coon and drip a sticky trail down the hallway. The adaptive light-proof curtains that you spent _way_ too many caegars on are doing their job, letting flickering shafts of luminescence into the hive—enough to guide you without tripping, not enough to fry you. One of the better investments a guy prone to insomnia and mania can make, really.

The stack of pails in the recreation block is still untouched, but it’s not worth the detour right now. You’ll figure out what your material sounds like in a pail at some point this week, if you stop being lazy. Chances are slim, to be honest, but you’ve lived in sarcastic hope your entire life and there’s no reason to stop now.

Once you’re in the ablution block it doesn’t take long to come. You think of KK, but it doesn’t _mean_ anything; it’s just because of the visual on the way in here. The thought of him flipping his shit while covered in your jizz is kind of hilarious. And crap, there’s a _ton_ of material, you probably would have drowned the poor guy. Are you going to have to do this every day? You really hope not, for the sake of the hive’s plumbing system if nothing else.

The sopor on your skin is starting to dry, getting tacky and uncomfortable, so you drag yourself back to the ‘coon. You shut the door a bit too loudly, and Karkat’s eyes flutter open at the noise. He raises an eyebrow.

“Water.” It’s half yawn, half mumble. It would be kind of cute if he wasn’t bossing you around. But you flip him off and go drink a glass of water, because you’ll never be able to get back to sleep if you start arguing with him. Most of the time you don’t even _want_ to go to sleep, because you’re either too full of energy or wanting to get shit done despite having none, but right now your body is ridiculously tired. You’re starting to believe what Karkat said about people dying during heat, because when you step into the sopor again your skin prickles and the heat between your legs has started anew.

You sigh and go pail again—significantly less material, this time—and drink a bit more before trying to sleep. It works, for a certain value of being successful, because while you _do_ manage to nod off, it only lasts a few hours before you’re up and finger-fucking yourself again. The next time you wake up, the light outside is dimmer, and you decide to just _stay_ up this time, because fuck, this all-over-the-place sleep probably isn’t doing you any good anyways, and you’re ravenous on top of that.

When Karkat wakes up, he finds you eating your third bowl of noodles, and he just sort of stares before stealing a key from you ( _like hell I’m going out without knowing I can get back in, I know you too fucking well for that_ ) and leaving to visit the grocer drones. You come across the shirt he was wearing yesterday, lying in a crumpled ball on your respite block floor, and it’s completely not creepy that you pail yourself with it crushed to your face, because it smells like sex and flawless code and everything good in life.

Karkat dumps a huge pile of stuff out when he gets back, and you spend more time reading the packages and trying to figure out what the fuck they are than actually helping him put them away. Seaweed? Really? And what the hell is an amaranth and millet puffgrain mix? Where do these things even come from? Who puts them in their body?

Karkat informs you that _you_ do, as of now. Screw this week with a hive of bees, seriously. You are so not ready to be an adult.

—————

Your first full day together doesn’t go as badly as you thought it would. Most of the time is spent watching his shitty movies or trying to devise a way to play Troll Munchkin with only two people, but every few hours the need in you builds up to the point where you can’t suppress it any more and you have to run to another block and take care of yourself. Karkat teases you every time you come back, but he’s always got water and some sort of food ready for you.

(You actually really like the nuttiness of the puffgrain mix, but you complain loudly anyways.)

The prickling you’ve felt since yesterday slowly ramps up in intensity throughout the night. Karkat notices your irritated scratching about three hours before the sun comes up, and he starts slapping your hand away whenever he notices your claws anywhere near an inflamed area. It’s fucking tyrannical. You pretend to be sleeping until he comes in and nods off, and then you head to the ablution block again. The urge to pail is strong right now, but not as strong as the urge to scratch every single fucking itchy bit of your body. Oh, and it is _glorious._

You practically melt into the trap, and wind up pailing yourself with one hand while the other takes care of your _other_ obnoxious condition. You deserve some kind of award for this, because you’re fixing multiple problems simultaneously _and_ playing into your duality shtick, so you might as well say you’re working on three problems at once. Sollux Captor, boy genius. The thought makes you snicker, and you’re covered in goo a few seconds later because hello, _boy genius_ , being distracted means you don’t remember to move into a position that prevents you from being a pail. _Oops_. You wash yourself off (and scratch), head back to the ‘coon (and scratch), and settle in to sleep (and scratch some more, apparently).

The best part is that KK will _never know._ Ehehe. Maybe you are a genius after all.

—————

Karkat has been driving you up the wall today, and if he yanks your hand away one more fucking time you are going to _literally_ float up the wall and just scratch yourself up there. Needless to say, you’re a bit moody after hours of it, and playing shitty card games is not helping.

“Sollux, quit scratching.”

“Reply hazy, try again.” You psionically shuffle the deck, and make a show of using both hands to scratch.

Karkat gives you a look. It is not a good look. “Fucking quit it. I’ll tie you up if I have to, and given how often you run out of the room on quote unquote _urgent business_ , you’d hate that situation even worse than not scratching.”

You ponder. Actually, being tied up sounds _really_ nice right now, but only if he fucks y—oh shit, you’re not gonna go there. Fuck you, brain.

“Why the hell are you so pissy about this anyways?”

He just crosses his arms and hugs himself a bit. Okay, something that can shut KK up? _Now_ you’re curious.

“Why, KK?” Nothing.

“KK. Why?” A glare.

“What ha—” he growls at you.

“Fucking fine. You want to know, I’ll show you. I just—I don’t want it to happen to you, okay, and if this is what it takes to get it into your disease-riddled pan that scratching is a cosmic fucking no-no, I’ll suck it up and let you leer at me like the psychotic pervert you are right now.”

You’re still trying to figure out what he means when he lifts his shirt off.

Oh. Oh, fuck. He looks so _delicous_ to you right now, and you can smell him even better like this. You want to jump him and fuck him until you’ve filled a hundred buckets. You want to press yourself against the bit of pudge on his belly, and you want to taste every inch of him. But you don’t. Instead, you just whimper a little and shift so your bulge won’t be as obvious when it’s done with its slow slide out.

“I, uh. I don’t—what are you getting at?”

“The fucking _scars_ , douchenub. They’re from my heat cycle. I didn’t _have_ anyone to stop me.”

Oh. Okay, yeah, he’s got some scars, but that’s really not the essence of what you’re seeing here. Heh. Understatement of the sweep.

“So?”

He crosses his arms again, covering his bare chest. _Noooo_ , _why would you **do** that, KK? Fuck._

“They bleed, Sollux. You _bleed_ to get scars. It hurts like hell and they take a long fucking time to heal. Supposedly only five percent of people get the itching, so nobody ever bothers to mention it, which would have been a nice goddamn courtesy if you ask me. Which they didn’t do, because they’re chutegaping embarrassments to the entire fucking species.”

He’s pacing angrily now, throwing his arms around as a visual aid to his ranting. The ranting that you’re totally not paying attention to, because meh, scars. And also because your bulge is completely out now thanks to the hypnotic way his muscles shift when he gestures. _Yes. Good. More._

He stops right in front of you, suddenly silent and scrutinizing. You’re not sure what’s so interesting about you, especially when there are more interesting things in the room, like the way he’s chewing on his lip. That’s nice. And you suppose the fact that your bulge just managed to plunge into your nook even in pants is interesting too, but that’s obviously not what he’s looking at. Maybe it’s the way you’re gripping the cushions. Or maybe he can hear the thundering pulse running through you. Could be the panting, or the wave of lust that’s overtaken you. Can he even smell you if he’s not in heat? You can't quite remember.

Your arm itches, and you scratch it absentmindedly.

A tangible surge of angry Karkat scent slams into you. Oh _fuck_ yes, it’s that _smell_ , that teasing, flirty cocktail of the world’s best things that’s been mixed together just for your enjoyment, strong and visceral and intoxicating. You lie back on the reclining platform and whimper, reflexively reaching down to rub yourself through your pants.

Something presses down and traps it against your body, and teeth close over your throat, scraping and sliding over your neck as they nip their way up your jaw and to your mouth. They clack against your own, and you kiss back in awkward, inexperienced bursts through your moaning. When something warm slides between your lips, it finally occurs to you that it wasn’t Karkat’s _scent_ that hit you so hard. It was _Karkat._

Well, fuck. It’s about time the universe gave you a _good_ surprise for once.


	4. Taboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new tags!

Your good surprise is almost _too_ good. Karkat grinds his bulge against yours, and you nearly come in your pants.

Oh fuck, this is happening. As in right now, present tense, your-best-friend-is-on-top-of-you happening. And maybe you’ve only wanted this for a few days now, maybe it’s just the complete grip this heat cycle has on your psyche, but this is all you want in life and you’re _getting it._ You grab KK and haul him as close as you can get him with clothing between you.

Clothes. Clothes need to not be here.

Karkat growls when you push him up to get rid of your shirt, but the second it’s off he sinks his claws into your sides and bites at your shoulder, and _fuck_ , he’s soft and warm against you, you’re not going to wait any longer. You _need._ Hands down, jeans frantically unbuttoned, arching against him to pull them off, it’s all a blur of sound and scent and sensation. There is a tiny, tiny fragment of calm lurking in the corner of your mind that’s begging you for one last word before it shrivels up and dies away, and you let it speak through you in the hopes that it will just fucking _go away_ and let you get on with this.

“Nn, is—” God effing damn it, he’s licking in raspy little lines on your neck and every single one of them is sending electric bolts of need from your nook to the rest of you.

“Is this—ah, hh, fuck, do you—want—?” That’s it. That’s the best you can do with language right now, you made a valiant fucking effort, so go _away_ , sane bits, you are no longer required.

He laughs almost maniacally. “Ahaha, if you stop I will fucking _cull_ you—” His pants slide over his hips and your bulges twine together and you take a sharp breath and give in to the beast that’s had you in its grip for days. A snarl rips from your throat and you shove him with everything you’ve got, your bulges sliding apart for one agonizing second before you’re on top, grinding into him, biting at his neck, making his breath stutter and shake. His scent is everywhere—on his skin, in the air, in your mouth—and it just drives you to want _more_ of it, to want it saturating the entire universe until it’s the only thing you ever smell again. You’re dizzy with the scent of it already, and you still want more, always more.

Karkat pushes back at you, but it just makes your knee slip, and you fall to the floor; you start to get up, but he drops onto you with an _oof_ and holds you in place. He’s deceptively heavy for someone so small, compact with muscle and _oh_ , his bulge is pressed against your nook and you’re almost wailing with need now, scooting closer and spreading your legs to get him _inside_ of you already—

He slides in too quickly, spreading you open enough to make you wince, but you can feel every slight ridge on his bulge as it presses along the underside of your sheath, and jolts of frenzied lust shoot through you. His nostrils flare when he’s completely in, and he lowers himself and buries his nose in your hair with a deep sniff that makes him shudder and moan. A strong surge of _yes, good, need_ emanates from him in a chemical wave, and you can’t explain why the hell you think you can understand what his _smell_ is saying, but you do, and it says he wants this as badly as you do. You hook your legs around his back and pull him closer.

Lips trace across your neck—slow, agonizing, _fuck!_ —as he twists and prods inside of you, and a tickling shiver shoots down to your nook when he licks another stripe up your neck and sucks at it. His teeth are poised over your throat again, scraping and threatening, and the danger’s got you squirming up against him, slipping a hand between you to squeeze and stroke at your bulge because the nook is nice but it’s not _enough_ to satisfy all of your urges right now. Your inner thigh starts itching, but to _hell_ with moving, to _hell_ with scratching, to _hell_ with anything that’s not Karkat right now.

He sits up from your neck with a gasp and grabs your hips, rocking into you slightly and dragging his bulge against your most sensitive nerves. Sweat drips from his hair to your face, rolling into your mouth and spreading salt over your tongue. Your neck is still wet with his saliva, your nook is dripping around him, and you’re sweating and itching and so fucking close to losing it. Nobody ever told you sex was going to be this _wet_.

His fingers dig into your skin and the rocking becomes less rhythmic and more frantic as he twists inside of you. It’s violent and bruising and god, you fucking love this, the ache in your nook and the claws embedded in your skin, the way he pulses hotly inside of you and moans. His eyes meet yours for a split second and then his hips jerk sharply and he cries out in a low shout, a loud, rough clicking blending into his usual tone. He buries himself deep inside of you and his body spasms with release, overwhelming you with warmth before he drops, exhausted, down to your chest and purrs. His weight pushes against you in all the wrong ways, and you suddenly need to pee. You’re too full.

This isn’t—

No, he didn’t. Surely—

Liquid spills from your nook as his bulge softens, and you’re forced to face the fact that yes. Yes, he did. The utter fucking shitstain.

“What the _fuck_ KK, did you seriously just use me as your fucking bucket?”

The purring stops. There’s a small pause as his face morphs from content to horrified, and he jumps off of you like you’re terminal and contagious.

“Oh my god, oh fuck, I don’t even know how—why would that even _work_ , why is there even _material_ right now?”

You push yourself up on your arms a bit to survey the damage, and yeah, there’s a bit of a swell to your stomach that _definitely_ shouldn’t be there even after eating more than usual the last few days. As if that’s not enough, your bulge is still screaming for attention and your entire body is itching so badly that you have to wonder if you’ve suddenly become allergic to yourself.

You groan, falling back against the floor. Of course. Of course this was going to happen, what the fuck else did you expect? It’s _your_ life, why the hell did you fantasize that something was going to go right? But screw it. You are _going_ to get off, even _if_ this was the worst first pailing in the history of the universe. You start to spread your legs again and a bit more material trickles out. Karkat, apparently, does not approve of this.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sollux. No. There is no fucking way in hell I am cleaning up a bucketful of our jizz. Not happening.” His face is so red that it almost hurts to look at. It’s kind of cute that he’s more flustered than you when _you’re_ the one leaking all over the floor. Also kind of _annoying._

“What the hell do you want me to do, leave it there and hope my nook becomes magically absorbent? Holds twelve times its weight in liquid, only nineteen ninety five?” Okay, maybe you’re a little growly right now, but that’s completely justified considering that the room is still suffused with the Karkat-enriched smell of sex and you _still_ haven’t satisfied your burning need to pail.

“Uh.” He looks around like he’s trying to figure something out. “Crap, get up. We’ll get you to the ablution block, just. Uh. Hold it in or something.”

Hold it in? It’s pressing against your bladder so hard you’re afraid you’re going to piss yourself, and he wants you to _walk?_

He reaches down and pulls you up by the armpits, and a gush of wetness slides down your leg. God fucking damn it.

“I’ll make it worth your time.” His voice is softer, and it’s almost a question, but you roll your eyes and go along with it because right now it seems like it’s the only way you’re going to be allowed to finish. Trying to walk with your thighs clamped together results in an undignified shuffling gait, but fuck if you have any dignity left at this point anyways, so you do your best to stop any more liquid from dribbling to your ankles as you walk. The feel of it sloshing around is making you sort of nauseous on top of that. This is such a shitty situation you’ve gotten yourself into, _fuck_.

You sit down heavily on the edge of the ablution trap and manage to sort of slide your way over it and spread your legs. The slight bump in your stomach goes down as Karkat’s material drains from your nook in an unceremonious _splash_ against the bottom of the trap, but _fuck your life_ , there’s more in there. You whine and grab at your bulge again, wriggling your hips to try to get the rest of it out, but Karkat’s arms settle around you and press. A bit more seeps out while you’re busy inhaling deeply and concentrating on the warm pressure of him around you, and then his hand moves to your bulge and he nips at your ear and you’re being softly pushed onto your back in the trap. It’s _freezing_. You have to throw one leg over the edge of the trap and stretch the other one out at an awkward angle for him to straddle you, but you’re gratified when he sinks onto your bulge and moans.

It’s electrifying, nothing at all like your hand, and it gives resistance so much different than you expected. It’s a slow, tantalizing slide until he’s flush against you and groaning, and you push up into him and keen, _oh fuck_ , every time he clenches around you it’s twice as satisfying as you could ever have imagined. If you could just focus on that, you’d be nearly done for already, but the itch on your thigh is still there and there’s one on your back that’s growing in intensity. You arch up and try to maneuver a hand underneath yourself, and KK snarls at you and pulls it away.

“ _No._ Holy nookstained phalanges _,_ you’re so fucking irritating. Here you are, stuffed with material and with a gorgeous piece of ass riding you, and you _still_ can’t fucking stop? You’re an embarrassment.”

You flinch at that. He’s right, there’s no excuse for this, you’re bulge-deep inside of him and still leaking out your nook—though at this point there’s no telling whether more of it is yours or his—and you can’t keep your hands off some mildly inflamed skin? You move your hands to his sides and try to concentrate on the feel of him, the way his pudge shifts a bit as he moves, the thickening scent in the air—anything but the prickling crawling over your body.

The relative calm only lasts a few minutes before the itch in your back grows to unmanageable levels of frustrating, and Karkat growls and pins your hands over your head when you try to scratch again.

“How many times do I have to say no before the message penetrates your daft, bifurcated brain?”

You can only whine in answer and push into him more frantically, hoping to finish this so he’ll let you take care of this endless irritation. If anything he slows down, and you squirm against the trap, trying to scratch the inside of your effing _spine_ by rubbing against cold furniture. It’s a somewhat adequate technique until you realize that the second you relieve one, it’s jumped to another place and you have to start all over again. You’re fucking helpless, completely at the mercy of Karkat and _itches_ , of all things.

“Holy fuck, _please_ , KK, I’ll be careful.”

He bares his teeth at you. “If you’re so fucking desperate, _I’ll_ take care of it. It’s on your back, right?”

You close your eyes and nod in relief. Sometimes he’s not a _complete_ asshole.

He pulls at you until you sit up, and his weight at this angle drives you deeper and makes your bulge ripple with need. _Nngh._

His claws skim lightly over an itch and you hunch your shoulders, trying to get him to apply more pressure because it doesn’t _help_ when it’s that subtle, damn it. Suddenly there’s _no_ pressure there; his hands are on your lower back now, tracing in teasing little circles that promise relief and don’t fucking deliver. You’re about five seconds away from completely flipping your shit when he switches to fingerpads and soothes the burning in a small patch of skin. You moan a bit at the fleeing calmness nestled among otherwise-ubiquitous prickles, but it turns into a groan when he scrapes lightly along your side and grins in your face.

“Relieved yet?” Maybe he _is_ a complete asshole all the time.

“You’re an a— _ohhh_.” His claws hit some sort of magical spot that makes you practically vibrate with anticipation, and then he _takes them away._ You whimper in protest, and he just laughs.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You shake your head _no_ but part of your mind says _yes_ , because right now every inch of you is crawling with sensation—warmth around your bulge and an entirely different kind of heat crawling over your skin in stabbing little bites, goaded on by Karkat’s infuriating touch. _Yes_ , you’re getting off on this—you’re desperate for release of any kind right now, and wires are getting crossed between “itch relief” and “bulge relief” somewhere in your mind, melded together by the powerful instinct that’s been in control of you for days.

When he grinds down on you and trails his hands over your ass, you finally just give in. Anything, if it means getting closer to being done with this awful, amazing, exhausting encounter. You close your eyes and choke out a pathetic _yes_ that drips with resignation and desperation. You’re a mess right now, broken and used and still lacking fulfillment, and dignity is a luxurious concept you just don’t have the fucking _willpower_ for any more.

“ _Yes,_ ” you say again, and words fall out of you in a mixed-up, needy whine. “Please, please pail me harder, oh god, please just—there—harder, _anything_ , _please—aah—_ ” and he _gives_ it to you harder, clenching his nook around your thrashing bulge and grunting with effort of staying on a trembling, shuddering wreck-in-progress. _So close_ , oh fuck.

His claws dance in little pinprick paths down your spine, teasing out stings and scrapes that burn harsh and devastating, arrayed into tiny clusters of alternating pain and softness that should be insignificant but are overwhelming. You’re not sure where the actual itches stop and he takes over but it doesn’t _matter_ because your thighs are shaking and your hips are jerking erratically—

He throws his arms around your neck and whispers into your ear, almost lost in your sobbing.

“Bulgeslut.”

Fuck, why is _that_ what sets you off?

He holds himself just above your spilling bulge and mouths at your throat as you spiral into a humiliating haze of bliss and orgasm, and he follows with a nearly-silent sigh and a small splash of material that drips warmly down your lap. You slump bonelessly against the trap, breathing heavily and dizzy with sensation, and he flops across you and starts to purr. An answering rumble comes from your own throat, a sound you’ve never made before but hope to make a thousand times more if this sort of situation is what it insinuates, and the two of you lapse into an awkward but satisfied not-silence.

You’re not quite sure what just happened.

You know you’re going to have to deal with it. You’re going to have to figure out what, if anything, it meant—and what to do with that information—but for now, you’ll settle for a fucking bath.


	5. Troll Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that are interested: I've posted an explanation of this fic's mating cycles [here](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com/post/54420627790/the-main-premise-behind-biological-imperatives). (You'll probably be visually assaulted with tentabulges if you go to any other page of my blog, but that particular link is work-safe.) It's spoiler-free if you've made it to this point, and it might answer some questions for you.

Every passing minute makes things more and more awkward, until it’s almost tangible embarrassment. Here you are, covered in goo and Karkat (and probably some more goo for good measure, because holy shit, that’s a lot of jizz), and you get the feeling that both of you are frozen in place, trying not to upset this delicate equilibrium and admit what you just did. You settle for staying where you are. You’ve got a lot more experience than Karkat at doing mundane things for long periods (funnily enough, that happens to be the reason he came over), so you’re sure he’ll be the one to snap.

You’re right. KK’s purring eventually tapers off and there’s a brief beat of silence before he scrambles away, popping the disgusting suction between you and thumping against the far wall of the trap with a look of sheer horror on his face.

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

His hands fist into his hair and he curls in on himself, tucking his head between his knees.

“I am so fucking sorry.” It’s muffled by his position.

“It’s okay.” It might be. It might not be. But there’s no harm in saying it and hoping it is, right? “You said this didn’t have to change anything.”

He raises his head and eyes you incredulously. “Right. Well then, I think you’re the more distressingly fucking filthy among us. Don’t use all the hot water, bulgesack.”

And with that he grabs a towel, wraps it around himself, and leaves the room.

No fucking way it’s that easy.

Whatever. You’ll take it.

It _hurts_ to stand up and fiddle with the heat settings. You’re sore all over, and if sex is always like that, then—well, you’ll honestly still probably do it again, but you’d like to lodge a formal fucking complaint with whoever decided to serve up a heaping helping of miserable with your awesome. The material on your stomach has started to dry—which you would think would make it easier to get off—but apparently it just means it’s decided to crawl into every goddamn pore on your body, sink its claws in, and refuse to come out until forcefully ejected by an Imperially-trained attack squad of soap and vigorous scrubbing. The only upside is that the burn from the soap overpowers the need to constantly scratch. Or maybe the itching is just going away. Hmm.

You’re pretty sure that you just basically agreed to forget this whole thing. And that’s cool with you, really, it is, but even thinking about it this soon afterward is making your bulge threaten to push out. You glare at it and flick the head when it starts poking out of the sheath, which just leads to you bending over against the wall in pain and lamenting your entire existence. _And_ the touch made it completely unsheath. Fuck your life.

You take care of your problem (don’t think of KK, don’t think of KK, you’re totally thinking of KK) and grab a towel before heading into your block to get dressed. Karkat launches a wrapped snack cake at your head when you come back out to the recreation block.

“And drink something too, chutewipe. Whatever you inhaled in the trap doesn’t count.” He’s down the hall and in the ablution block before he can even see you flipping him off, which is truly a sorrowful occurrence. The snack cake might have tasted okay at one point, but you end up following his advice and looking for a drink just to wash down the shitty, gritty sugar granules. They had to have put _effort_ into making this product so horrible. Bleh. Probably why he chose it, to force you to drink.

There’s already a glass out on the nutrition block table, tiny drops of moisture clinging to the inside edges. Might as well refill it. No use in getting more stuff dirty, right? Model of efficiency, that’s you. When you drink from it, it smells like KK, tastes like KK, and makes you shiver while thinking about KK. You’re so fucking screwed. This week hates you so much.

You try dicking around on your husktop, but you can’t focus. You’ve _never_ had trouble dicking around on your husktop. AA isn’t online, you actually _agree_ with the guys flaming people on your favorite forums, and you can’t get more than five lines of code written at a time. You’re jumpy as hell. Nothing will hold your interest, aside from pailing, and you probably shouldn’t be concentrating on—nope, there’s the visual, KK’s rapturous expression as he nears completion. That image is never going to leave your mind no matter how hard you try to forget it.

You groan and shift in your seat. Honestly, you’re not sure if you’re trying to keep your bulge in or let it out at this point. You just want it to be _okay_ to want the things you’re wanting, is that so fucking much to ask? It’s getting hard to deny that you’ve got a fixation on KK this week, and part of your mind—you’re not sure if the sane bit or the overwhelming subconscious instinct, that’s the kicker—is telling you that there’s something more to it than just sex. Do heat cycles actually push you into quadrants? Ugh, biology.

Okay, yeah. You like the guy, even if you’d never admit it to him. He’s ridiculous amounts of fun to aggravate, if nothing else. And it’s not like you haven’t thought about being quadranted up with him before, it’s just that you always assumed that if it happened you’d be pale, because he can’t keep his nose out of your business when he thinks something is wrong. He pities you, platonically or otherwise, that much is certain. But do you pity him, or do you just want a good fuck right now? (And that was an _amazing_ fuck, thank you very much.)

“Hey douchepod—”

You jump in surprise and go down with your chair—holy fuck, _ow_ , your head—and try to glare up at Karkat, but you look directly up his damn towel instead. What the hell is he even doing there? Staring down at you in unimpressed maybe-concern and dripping pheromone-enhanced water droplets lightly onto your head, apparently, but this is his fault so you roll over and become intimate with the floor in an effort to stave off romantic interest in the piteous object of your demise. Fucking _pheromones_.

“Goddamnit, you crotchblistering clusterfuck. I was just gonna ask if I could borrow some clothes.”

“Meh.” Not your wittiest comeback to date, but you really don’t want to be here right now. So much of this week so far has consisted of you wishing he would just go away, and right now is no exception. Then again it’s not like you really _want_ him to go _,_ either, you just…meh.

“Do I take that as a yes, or…?”

“Meh.”

“I’ll take that as a yes since you’re apparently fixated on becoming a vacuous pile of fuckall.” His footsteps vibrate through the flooring as he stomps off to your respite block, and you wait until you can’t hear them any more before carefully sitting up and adjusting your glasses. You set your chair right-way up again and slump into it, clicking around at random folders. Nothing’s particularly interesting right now. You end up opening up _Magicka_ and staring blankly at the log-in screen until you hear KK come back in. You spin your chair around to ward against sudden verbal attacks, which turns out to be a bad idea because you didn’t allow for the possibility that visual attacks could be even worse.

Yeah, you really didn’t think about what he asked you, before. But the sight of him wearing your sign makes your mouth go dryer than those stupid cakes could ever hope to make it, and your nook throbs a bit as you take in the tightness of the shirt around his wider frame. The way your jeans cradle his ass is probably illegal even under the new Empress, and you feel like the creepiest friend in the entire world because the first place your mind jumps is to _fuck, I’m gonna roll around in those when he leaves_. You’ve got problems. And right now, KK is all of them. He’s also looking at you kind of oddly, and you think he’s blushing a bit. Fuck.

“Uh. Co-op?” You gesture at your screen. _Thank you, habit of opening random shit when bored. You have saved the day._

He rolls his eyes. “Why the hell not. Lemme grab my husktop.”

He plops himself on the reclining platform, and you launch a vicious campaign of normalcy by attempting to sabotage him in every way possible. It’s easy as hell, since he never bothered to learn the good combos. You boot him off the screen and easily wipe up the rest of the mobs while he bitches.

“Holy f—Sollux, did nobody ever teach you the _meaning_ of co-op?”

Ehehe.

“It’s co-operative, shitstain. As in, working _with_ me, not blowing me off the fucking screen with flap-fondling ARSE mines everywhere!”

You grin at him. “Relax, KK. It was an accident. Won’t happen again.”

“Like hell it won’t.”

(It happens again. A-R-S-E, shift, left-click. Too easy.)

His little mage goes flying, and he throws a pillow at you while you giggle uncontrollably. You die to the monsters on-screen and the level resets, but you’re much more interested in KK’s temper tantrum. And breathing. Breathing is hard right now, because you’re hunched over in your chair, face buried in your arms on the desk, laughing so hard you’re crying. He’s too fucking hilarious sometimes.

“—ever play a fucking game with you again because I have _tried_ and it just isn’t possible to teach someone so pan-rottingly dense how to interact with people. I blame your stunted social growth as a wriggler. Are you even fucking listening? Sollux? Oh my god, just—I’m done here, five hundred percent done waiting on you prong and nub. Good luck with the cycle. I’m going home, and you can shove it up your chitinous windhole if you don’t fucking like it. ”

Shit, you didn’t want to scare him off. You need him here to. Uh. For something. Something that’s definitely not ogling him.

“Ehehe—KK, don’t—don’t go—” You’re probably not helping your case with the endless laughter, _fuck_.

He glares at you as he powers down his husktop.

“Suck my bulge, Captor.”

“ _Make_ me.” There’s a moment of silence as he takes in your smirk and you watch his face transform from confusion to anger. And then you run for your life, because he looks _pissed_. You don’t get far, because you’re out of breath from dying of laughter and you have to pass by him to get to safety anyways. You’re not actually sure if you trip on a husktop cable or if his tackle is what does it, but you wind up with a very angry, very heavy KK pinning you down, and you’re seriously considering investing in some softer flooring if you keep getting slammed to the floor as much as you have been today.

You’re such a fucking idiot sometimes, why the hell weren’t you hatched with a brain-to-mouth filter?

Any remaining air is knocked out of you when he knees you in the back, but then his teeth sink into the side of your neck and you realize that you would have melted _regardless_ of what his knee did or how much air you had. You spread against the floor in a glaze-eyed pool as he starts grinding into your ass. Oh fuck. _Yes_. This is a yes. So much yes.

Oh, you’re pretty sure that was his bulge you just felt. You feel it again, and your own slips out unbidden, pressing against the floor under your combined weight. Fuck, you need him right now. You try to roll over, and much to your surprise, he lets you. But then he stands up, fisting his hand in your shirt and hauling you up to your knees. What’s he—oh. He unzips his pants— _your_ pants—and you notice that he’s also wearing _your_ boxers, though they’re nearly unrecognizable from the red stains seeping through them. Nghh.

Yeah, you’ll suck his bulge. And he really doesn’t have to _make_ you do it, either. Not if he’s so hot for you that he’s already ruining your underwear.

You lean forward and mouth at his bulge through the boxers. It presses against the fabric in coils, warm and insistent, and a maddening hint of pheromones coats your tongue as you lap up his material. It tastes like the drops of his sweat that rolled into your mouth earlier, and that brings back some not-so-distant memories that make you shudder.

Karkat hisses at you and pulls the boxers down.

“I said to suck it, not to fucking tease it, you asshole.” Teasing, huh? You can remember some teasing that was done quite recently and it _wasn’t_ by you. You lean in and lick a path up the underside of his bulge, and then you see one of his scars and have a terrible, wonderful idea. You probably shouldn’t do it. But you’re going to anyways. You tug at him, trying to get him to lay down.

“Well maybe if you’d fucking sit _down.”_

He huffs and drops to his knees, but you drop with him and swallow his bulge as deeply as you can. It has the intended effect. He moans and slowly relaxes onto his back. Perfect.

_Zap_.

Psionic restraints appear around his wrists. You can probably deal with his legs yourself, because damn, even two of these are going to be hard to maintain without hurting him. It’s time to pay him back for the itching business in the ablution trap.

“The _fuck?_ ”

You reach two fingers up to his mouth and pap him gently. He tries to bite them. Jeez, he’s a feisty little fucker—and yeah, you kind of like that about him. He’d be boring otherwise.

“Ssshhh, you’ll like it.” He eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t say anything. At least, not until you look him straight in the eye and thrust two fingers up his nook. Then he says a lot of things, most of which are are subtle variations on _shit fuck damn it Captor._ Ehehe. He’s losing his profane eloquence, how cute. And you haven’t even gotten to the main attraction.

You turn your attention to the scar that caught your eye earlier, and brush your lips over it. He tenses under you, going quiet, and you curl your fingers and stroke twice. His hips jerk up, and you know you’ve got him. He hates these scars, but that doesn’t mean _you_ do. Hell, you might go as far as saying you’re indebted to them, given the part they played the first time you pailed him.

You kiss the next-closest scar, and he stiffens again. He’s trying _so hard_ to keep his breathing under control.

Stroke, stroke. He throbs around your fingers.

The next one is long and jagged, nestled on the inside of his thigh. Ouch, that one had to hurt. You lick it as gently and slowly as you can manage. Reverently, even.

Stroke—

He screams.

—Stroke.

“Holy taintchafing fuck on a shitspangled stick, you nookcrunching bulgemunch—I’m going to—ahh—rip your fucking globes out and shove them down your—FUCK—get _off of me before I destroy you and everyone you’ve ever known._ ”

You waggle your eyebrows at him as you remove your fingers. He’s not usually that direct.

“Is that really what you want from me, KK?”

“Y— _no_ , just—AUGHH, just _pail_ me already, you heinous excremental fuckrod—”

“Eheh, I don’t think so.”

You _want_ to pail him already. Your bulge is busy ruining another pair of pants, and your nook is dripping so much that you could probably be used to water a garden right now, _fuck_. But you can hold out a bit longer, if it means making him beg a bit more. You crawl up beside him and clumsily kick your disgusting, soppy pants off in the process. He moans when you slide the fingers back into him, and when your mouth hits a nubby horn his entire body shudders. His horn’s a little rough against your tongue, but then again, maybe that’s just Karkat. He tends to be a bit rough around the edges.

You’re not sure how much pressure to use here, so you’re gentle at first. You do your best to push down his pants with your feet as your tongue circles his base, and—yeah, you’re pretty sure your foot is covered in red now, but that’s an acceptable compromise for having him one step closer to naked. It takes you a moment to get the hang of the multitasking—swirling with the tongue, sucking lightly, teasing him with your fingers—but it’s more than worth it because he practically _purrs_ for you, even when you have to pull back for a moment to get your shirt off. When you switch to the other side, his eyelids flutter and he lets out a breathy little _hhhh_ , and that’s really all the convincing you need to fuck him.

His horns glisten with saliva, and you use his shirt to wipe them off as you pull it over his head. You stretch out to grab one of the pails that’s been sitting under the table for a few days, and he moans when he sees it. You can’t really blame him. You want this too, even if you can silently admit that it’s not just the heat causing the urge any more. He’s pitiful, whimpering and shuddering under your touch. How the hell could you _not_ fall for him? But that’s something you’re going to have to work out at a later date, because right now he’s stretched out and begging for you, even if his reasons aren’t quite the same as yours.

You straddle him with a sigh, and the two of you gasp in unison when your bulges twine together. He doesn’t try to bite you when you press yourself flat against him and slip your tongue between his lips; instead, he kisses back softly and squirms under you like he’s trying to get more friction. You’ll do better than that. You’ll _try_ , anyways—it’s a little difficult to pry your bulges off of his when he keeps arching up and squeezing around you like that.

“Damn it KK, I’m going to—nngh—blow up your husktop if you don’t let go of me.” He glares at you, but his grip on you slackens when you rub at one of his horns again. These things are ridiculously convenient.

“Fff—”

You line him up as he starts to protest, and it turns into a low-pitched, drawn-out wail when you guide him into you. It’s still a tight fit, even though you’re in control this time. Crap, you hope you didn’t hurt him when he rode you in the trap.

You pause for a moment to catch your breath when he’s all the way in, and the illusion of softness shatters. A wave of pheromones wafts off of him and sets off an answering urge inside of you. So much for slow and torturous, because the more you smell him, the more he drives you crazy. Fuck, you just want to pail him without feeling like an animal, is that too much to ask? Screw it. You’ll take it even if you can’t make him scream again. You close your eyes and rock your hips against him, and he must be getting a similar scent off of you or something because he’s coiling inside of you in frantic, heavy twists and making little whiny noises of need when you’re not going quickly enough for him.

His bulge brushes against your shame globes, and you crumple onto him in shock. You’re still trying to work through the overwhelming surge of pleasure and throbbing that it sets off when Karkat flips you onto your back and grinds into you with a moan. Fuck. You let your concentration drop, but you don’t care because _fuck, he can hit that spot from here too._ His fingers dig into your thighs as he tries to pull you closer, and you really should have let him have control of this to begin with because _yes_ , you want _more_ of this, and his ragged, pitiful sobbing is better than any scream you could ever rip out of him because he’s _offering_ it to you.

You’re not sure which one of you is shaking—or if it’s _both_ of you—but when he bends down and savages your lip with his teeth it almost sets you off, you do know that much. Your claws dig into his back, and he hisses and sinks his own into your hips.

“F—fuck—pail, _pail_ , get the fucking pail, KK—” He bites your lip again and practically hauls you up onto your knees with it still between his teeth, and then his hand is on your bulge and _oh god_ , there’s a bucket between you. The cold rim digs into your thighs and you let go, moaning into his mouth as your material splatters into your first official pail. Karkat leans heavily against you, his head falling onto your shoulder as he strokes and squeezes at his bulge, and you bury your face into his sweaty hair and drink deeply of that maddening scent while slipping your fingers into his slick nook.

“Aa—ahh, fuck—” His breath is hot and wet on your neck, and god, he sounds so fucking broken and _pitiful_ , and you’re a horrible fucking friend for thinking it but you want _all_ of this to be forever, the snark and the sex and that sinful scent that’s slowly taking over every aspect of your fucking life. How the hell are you supposed to be _normal_ after a week of this? Will you honestly be able to tell him that you’re still friends, when you _know_ you want more than that? Fuck, this is why you shouldn’t try to puzzle out feelings, they’re dangerous and intrusive and destructive and—

“Nn—S—Sollux—” He spills warm over your hand, and you can’t figure out if it’s that or the way he moaned _your_ name or the way the material in the bucket is mixing to a captivating orange, but _something_ is sending your bloodpusher into overdrive and making you so dizzy that you’d fall over without his support.

He takes a deep breath and laughs shakily against you. “The hell even started that?”

“Fuck if I remember. I’m gonna take an off-the-wall guess that it had something to do with pheromones.”

“No fucking shit. Someone sign you up for the legislacerators, you’ve missed your calling in life.” He slumps down onto his side, pulling you with him. He almost knocks over the pail in the process, so you nudge it away with your foot before settling into the almost-hug, almost-cuddle, entirely-awkward grip he’s got you in. It’s hard to tell if he’s failing at showing affection or succeeding at keeping you off of him.

“This is going to be a _thing_ this week, isn’t it.” It’s not phrased as a question, because as much as you like to insinuate it, he’s not stupid. You roll your eyes and shrug as well as you can in this position.

“KK, it’s already a _thing._ If it was any more of a _thing_ , they’d induct it into the _thing_ hall of fame.” Heh. It’s more of a thing than he knows, too, that’s the hilarious bit.

He facepalms with a long-suffering groan. “Aaggghh. This _thing_ doesn’t leave the hive, okay? This hive is Troll Vegas. It’s more Troll Vegas than _actual_ Troll Vegas, because this _thing_ is actually going to _stay_ in this Troll Vegas. Got it?”

“Ehehe. Yeah, I got it. This is more classified than those chat logs when we were six.”

He flicks you hard on the forehead and hisses. He’s such a fucking wriggler sometimes.

“The whole fucking point was that we never mention them again, jackass. There _were_ no chat logs when we were six, just like there _is no thing_. Fuck.”

You hold up your hands in mock defeat and grin. “No thing, no chat logs, Troll Vegas. My lips are sealed, KK.”

Heh. Like you’re ever going to be able to forget about _this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARSE mines are a real thing. If you'd like to experience their beauty for yourself, you can go [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWcrv0Bg4tQ&feature=youtu.be&t=6m34s) and watch until 7:17ish. Should only take you a moment :)


	6. Ablutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers "I'm sorry this took so long" and surreptitiously deposits chapter at 3 A.M.*

This was not how you were supposed to wake up.

The first thing you notice is the scent, invading your drifting consciousness with its now-common demands and insistent driving need. Next is the _splash_ of somebody diving into sopor and a rippling wave against your chest, and then there are warm lips on yours and arms wrapping around you and grabbing your ass, and yes, hi, okay, you are awake now and would very much like to be a participant in this process. Karkat sucks a sharp breath in when you grab _his_ ass and pull him flush against you, and then he lets out a moan.

“Sollux—I need— _oh._ ” You cut him off with a return kiss and press him against the wall of the recuperacoon. It’s pretty obvious what he wants, and that’s a good fucking. You pailed twice before going to sleep, hoping to get through the day without interruption, but that’s apparently not a thing that’s going to happen.

Right now you can’t tell which one of you it’s coming off of, but pheromones are saturating the air and overpowering the sour smell of sopor. Biology is adamant about making you pail, and—well, for the first time this week, you really don’t mind. Biology’s not as bad as you thought, because it means an armful of KK and a handful of his ass. It means the sting of his teeth against your neck, and the slide of claws over your back as you attempt to pull him closer. If you were any closer right now you’d be the same person and you’d _like_ that, you’d like to melt into him and know him in every fucking way you can because god, fuck, you need him so much it burns, your own twisted need melding with the sizzling drive of your heat cycle to fan the pity in your chest until it could consume you both. He’ll leave in a few days, but this need will still be here eating away at you.

Fuck. That’s _terrifying_ to think about, so you don’t. You push it to the back of your pan, pulling him off of your neck and into a searing kiss that makes him rut up against you and whine. Shit. You can’t fuck in sopor. This stuff is _not_ meant to be shoved deep into _any_ orifice, no matter what KK’s crazy friend says. Right, then. No nooks. You’ve still got options.

He goes slack when you jam your hand between you and weave him between your fingers, and you can _feel_ his nook pulsing from here, tugging gently at the base of his bulge with each throb. This feels a hell of a lot different when you’re surrounded by sopor. Your entire environment’s wet right now, not just him, and he slides so beautifully and effortlessly in your hand that you’d probably slip off if you tried to stroke him. You’re about to squeeze him instead when _his_ fingers curl around _you_ , and you end up gripping him rather more firmly than you’d intended. Holy fuck, _yes_. Playtime is a go.

You relax your grip, but his other hand closes over yours and tightens.

“God, just—harder, fuck, that was _so nice_ —”

He gets two fingers between your bulge tips and into your oversensitive split, then starts forcefully twisting you around him to illustrate his point. A shiver runs through your body and you whimper like a wriggler because it’s different but hot as fuck to be handled roughly like this, like he’s so eager to get at you that he can’t take the time to do it slowly, has to overwhelm and overstimulate you until you’re begging and releasing in his hands. He grips you between the horns and hauls you back to him, slipping his tongue between your lips and pressing against you so needily that you can’t help but wonder if he actually _is_ that eager to get you off. Both of you breathe heavily through your noses, trying your hardest not to separate for a stupid thing like air when there are such _better things_ to do with your mouths.

You’re lightheaded with need and pity and lack of air, so it’s probably not a surprise that you come first, tensing between his fingers and darkening the sopor with your material. Your bulge begins to soften and slip through his fingers as you sort of half-heartedly kiss in the direction of his mouth— _fuck_ , you’re nowhere near coordinated enough for this shit—and KK wraps his hand around yours and squeezes, a low growl in his throat. Okay—fine, you can do this, all you have to do is play with him, it doesn’t _have_ to be graceful or even particularly skilled to get off, god knows you’ve proven that to yourself often enough. You let your head drop to his neck so you don’t have to expend effort by holding it up, and you wind up alternately nibbling at him and smoothing your tongue over the bites while you work him over with your hand.

It doesn’t actually take long for coherency to return, and when you think about the fact that yes, this is KK’s bulge you’re fondling and his sweat that you’re tasting, you’re mentally assaulted with that wave of pity again. It tells you to claim him, to mark him and pleasure him until he pities you back, so that’s what you do. You pour every last ounce of your need into him, pushing him against the wall of the ‘coon and sliding your hand to the curve of his back, bracing him against your body and kissing him like he’s actually _yours_ and not just on loan for the week. Something about the change sets him off, and he garbles your name into your mouth as he arches forward— _fuck_ , you can feel that curve in his spine as it shifts against your hand and for some reason that is just _incredibly sexy_ —and then he’s spasming in your hand and displacing the sopor between you with a cloud of material that slowly rises to chest-level and warms you the whole way up.

He slumps against the wall with a groan, and you wrap your other arm around him, leaning in and burying your nose in his disheveled hair. His horn rests against your cheek, scratchy and solid, and it’s the perfect place to relax your head as you both come down from the high. You’re reminded of the time you spent at his hive a few sweeps back, when he was sick and you fell asleep together while watching movies. He was curled up in your lap with the single clean snuggle plane wrapped around you both because it was ridiculously cold out, and when you woke up your head was nestled against the gentle curve of a nubby horn, almost exactly like it is now. He smelled different then, a clear, natural scent that wasn’t smothered in pheromones, and you really wish you’d enjoyed it while you had the chance.

Karkat eventually brings his hands up to rest on your lower back, and you realize that your breathing has unconsciously synchronized. It’s a little bit hypnotizing, and you’re starting to drift off to sleep when you feel him shift under you.

“Eww, _fuck_.”

“Mmm?” You nuzzle against him again.

He pushes you off of him—fuck him, seriously, that was _nice_ —and makes a disgusted noise as he looks down. You follow his eyes, and—yeah, okay, that’s pretty nasty. Any wriggler that’s had their first wet dream knows that when you add sopor and genetic material you end up with an unholy substance that stains skin like a bitch, and the mess between you is that bizarre shade of orange that you and KK make together. At least, you think it is—the ‘coon’s not the most well-lit right now, so all you can be _sure_ of is that there’s a patch of darkness among the sopor, but you honestly don’t need to be tinted _any_ color for the next perigee.

“Ablutions?”

His nose wrinkles and he nods before starting to climb out of the ‘coon. Admittedly your vision isn’t the best without your glasses, but you still get a faceful of KK ass, and that’s a nice wake-up bonus anyways. You follow him out, shaking off and scraping your feet on the crusty mat. Yeeeahhhh…you really need to replace that. Fuck, you’re gonna have to drain the sopor too, but at least it gives you an excuse to sleep with him after getting the material off. Ehehe, getting it off.

…fuck, you’re ridiculously doped-up and giddy right now. Smacking yourself on the side of the head doesn’t snap you back to reality, just makes you sort of dizzy and makes KK stare back at you like he thinks you’re absolutely loopy, and he’d be right on that count. Whatever. For now, all you really need to focus on is getting into the trap with KK. You stand in a sort of daze as he twists at the knobs and tests the temperature, and when he’s satisfied he nods you in beside him and sets it to spray.

You almost fall onto Karkat in relief when the warm water hits your sore, abused muscles, and he elbows you away as he grabs the soap. You’re not built for the kind of beating—quite literally, in some cases—that you’ve been getting this week, and you are _so, so thankful_ that his core temperature is so close to yours. If you were in here with a highblood you’d be freezing your ass off, and you’d probably be up for the rest of the day trying to warm the fuck back up. KK nudges up against you when he bends a bit to adjust the water, and mmm _yes_ he is delicious and soft and the perfect temperature, why the fuck did you ever take your hands off of him?

Karkat bumps you again, wetly sliding up against you and practically hugging you. You blink and look down. He’s glaring. The fuck is he mad about now? You didn’t even _do_ anything this time.

“I _said_ give me the fucking shampoo, douchelord.” He’s trying to reach past you.

Oh. Ehehe, if he’s mad at you already, you might as well make it worth the vitriol. You grab behind you for the shampoo, and he reaches out to take it, but you squirt some into your hand and start working it into his hair.

“What. The _fuck_. Are you doing?”

You shrug as the foam starts building up from your light scratching. “Ablutions are for getting clean. I’m getting you clean.”

The glare doesn’t really die down, but he doesn’t stop you. You’re cautious at the bases of his horns, but he shudders when you knead at the scalp around them anyways. It’s kind of surprising that he’s not fighting you on this, given how much he’s tensing up. Actually…hell, you wanted to touch him anyways. You push him back to rinse out his hair, and rest your hands on his shoulders. Holy fuck, could he _get_ any stiffer? It’s like there are rocks under there instead of muscles.

He stands and drips while you smooth your thumbs over the knots, and slowly— _really_ fucking slowly—he starts to thaw under your touches. You’re sweeping up towards his neck when he turns and grabs your forearms, locking eyes with yours. Crap, you didn’t mean to piss him off. Well, not _seriously_ , at least.

“If you wanted me to stop you could have just—”

“This isn’t just about the heat any more, is it?” His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is set in a thin line.

You hesitate, and swallow. Your head inclines a bit, trying to betray you and say yes, but you manage to stop it before it turns into a nod. There’s no way you heard that right anyways. His eyes dart to the swirling water at the bottom of the trap, and his expression softens a bit.

“Fine.”

Arrgh, what the fuck does that even _mean_? You didn’t even _say_ anything to respond to, so why—

He presses you to the wall and draws you into a slow, languid kiss. It’s teasing and light, barely there at first, but it picks up in speed and pressure when you gather your wits and start kissing back. Fuck, you want to know what the hell is even going on, but you can’t bring yourself to take your lips off of his.

This kiss is completely different from any you’ve had with him. There’s still some force behind it, a sort of passionate drive, but it’s soft and possessive at the same time. It’s an oxymoron. Scratch that, it’s an oxymoron that just shoved its tongue into your mouth, fuck. He runs it over your teeth and tickles the roof of your mouth softly, and you shelve your questions to focus on enjoying this—on the way his hands are drifting to your ass and directing a cascade of water to your hips, on the soft little gasps that he’s making, on the twist of your tongues together, on the wet suction between your bodies. On everything that this is, and has been, and could be. (And fuck, you were gonna stop thinking about that.)

He breaks away and presses kisses to your neck as your bulges begin to coil around each other. You’re dripping enough that the water under the two of you is mingling orange from all of the material running down your legs. Shit. How do you even have this much material _left_ in you?

Karkat sort of jiggles against you awkwardly, reaching a leg out behind him, and you realize that he’s too fixated on you to just turn the water off the normal way. It’s actually kind of cute. You flick at the tap with psionics and the stream stops. The dripping and the slosh of liquid down the drain are nearly drowned out by your twinned, harsh breaths as he grinds against you and mouths at your ear, and _why_ , fucking _why_ , does that make your nook throb and flutter like you’re a second away from coming? Shouldn’t you be immune to this shit by now?

But no, when his hands cup your ass again and he growls against your neck, you shiver and melt like a goddamn popsicle in a furnace. You’re trying to stop yourself from wobbling against the wall when he hooks his arms under your thighs and hauls you up off the floor with a grunt. You let out an undignified little _eep_ and flail around a bit—he couldn’t warn a guy, seriously?—but _fuck_ if picking you up like this isn’t the hottest thing he’s done all week, especially when he shifts and slides into your nook in one long, controlled thrust. You’re not sure if it’s just the position or if you somehow never noticed, but he’s filling you so completely that it almost hurts, pressing up against your globes and spreading you in all directions.

His mouth crushes against yours again, forceful but infuriatingly slow. He still tastes like he just woke up, heavy with his natural scents and the ceaseless drip of pheromones. Your arms wrap around his neck and you do your best to hook your legs behind his waist, but it’s _really fucking hard_ to stay focused on shit like that when he’s working you over like this, fuck. Honestly, you’re impressed. You knew he was stronger than he looked from all of the tussles you’ve had with him lately, but you didn’t know that his understated musculature was enough to pick you up and _keep_ you up this long. You’re fucking swooning over here, goddamn it.

There’s not a lot you can do from this position, but you can at least throw yourself headlong into this fucking _magical_ kiss as he rocks up into you. You just end up sabotaging yourself when you try to grind down onto him though, because he pulls away with a moan and rests his forehead on yours, looking at you intently enough to give you chills.

“F—fuck—KK, I’m not gonna last, get off my globes if—” It's embarrassing as shit that you’re this close this fast, but he has quite literally been thrashing against the most sensitive region of your body for minutes now, and if that’s not an excuse for going off in record time, you don’t know _what_ is. Not to mention the weird fucking way he’s looking at you, making you question what’s happening, if this is all some odd dream you’ve concocted. You’re still not sure if what he said means anything solid, but dreaming-you _would_ probably only be able to form a scenario where you _almost_ end up with him, wouldn’t believe it would _actually_ happen. Maybe all of this steam is just dream-fuzz. That _would_ be your luck, wouldn’t it?

KK honest-to-fuck _snarls_ at you and emphasizes the next stroke with an added upward thrust that has you groaning and sliding against the slick wall. The pressure inside of you is getting unbearable, you’re having to clench down and _concentrate_ on not coming, that’s how fucking close you are.

“So fucking—nngh— _come_ , you dipshit, it’s—hh—kind of the point.”

You really shouldn’t be this eager to follow KK’s instructions, but you are—you let go, quivering in his arms and crying out with the desperation of restrained release, drooping against the wall and trying to get your slack limbs to keep their grip on him as he buries his head in your chest. He scrapes you sidelong with his fangs and lets out an almost-whimper with every twist. Hell, he might actually _be_ whimpering, because the position is muffling the noises he’s making. You almost miss it when he gasps out a quiet _Sollux_ , but you do catch it as a faint whisper, and it makes something inside of you flutter briefly before you’re distracted by the hot material filling you and dripping out around his bulge. He lurches forward and almost drops you, but he catches you long enough for you to unfold your legs and stand on your own. His material gushes down your thighs and splashes onto the floor of the trap, lightly discolored by your yellow, and you realize that you’re starting to feel sore and achy again. Shit.

He spends only a moment heaving against you before he’s pressing searing lips to yours again and tightening his arms around you. For all the heat in it, he doesn’t press it further, doesn’t seem to want to pail again, just sort of clumsily fumbles his half-coherent body into approximating kisses. It’s sloppy and he spends more time _breathing_ against you than actually kissing you, but it’s kind of nice for something to happen after sex that’s not just pushing each other away and finding something to do to make things less awkward.

You rinse off as well as you can while still attached at the mouth like mating suckerfish, and he doesn’t stop kissing you until ten minutes later when you’re both dropping into the clean side of the ‘coon. Even then, he tucks himself against you, and you wind up falling asleep with an unprecedented armful of Karkat Vantas. You’re not quite sure what this means—what _any_ of this means, to be quite honest—and you’re _really_ not sure if you’d prefer he remember or forget come evening. Either way, this isn’t going to be like when he was sick—this time, you’ll take what you can while you have it.


	7. Well, Fuck

KK’s got a bad habit of being practical. Case in fucking point: you, being a perfectly sane and well-adjusted individual, wish to recline in leisure against the wall of the ablution trap, letting the warmth soothe the deep aches of your body away. You also want to analyze whatever the hell happened here yesterday and maybe get off to the memory. (You…think he may pity you? But you probably shouldn’t enumerate your cluckbeasts before they’ve hatched. There’s another bad habit, optimism—always comes back to bite you in the ass.)

KK, however—KK is intent on making your life a living hell tonight. His first order of business is prying you out of the trap, but he’s not even willing to come in here and work for it (ehehe, you know _exactly_ where _that_ would end up). Instead, he’s projecting his voice like a missile through the walls, in the way only he can, and trying to get you to go to the fucking store. At seven in the evening. _No_.

It’s ungodly early for that shit—and you’ve tried to tell him that—but _noooo_ , you’re almost out of _fooood_ , whine, whine whine. Who even cares? This thing’s almost over anyways, it’s not like you’re in danger of dropping dead at this point. Yeah, so maybe you both eat a lot of food in this condition. Maybe you eat double the amount you normally do because your occasional orgasmic lightshows take a lot of energy out of you. But really—you’ll last a day, and if _he_ can’t, well then, that just makes him all the more pitiable. Fuck your life and your stupid fucking crush.

The door slams open, and you jerk a bit in surprise. You slip and nearly fall on your ass, and by the time KK gets over to you there’s almost no traction under your feet, so it’s ridiculously easy for him to haul you out of the trap. He completely ignores your sputtering attempts at protest and starts toweling you down—what are you, a fucking wriggler? You just wanted a soak, holy shit. You briefly consider floating away, but you know that the second you dip back down into the trap he’ll just be on you again.

“KK, we’ve got food, we really don’t need to—”

“All we have left is snack cakes. One, those are not food. Two, those are _really_ not food, because they taste like ass warmed over and I’m pretty sure they’re comprised mostly of sand. We are not seadwellers, Sollux. We are not made to ingest sand. So three, I don’t care if I have to drag you there behind me, we are visiting the goddamn grocer drones and you are not going to invalidate that fact, no matter how hard you try.”

Well, shit. “You could have stopped after the first bit, KK. Personally, I think they just taste like _dry_ , but I agree with the gist of what you’re saying. Get me a fucking shirt and we’ll see about escaping from the dreaded quote unquote… _pastry beasts_.”

“You can’t fucking quote me on something I didn’t say.”

“Watch me as I quote unquote completely disregard that thing you just said.”

He flips you off, but he actually goes to your block and gets you a fucking shirt. It’s slightly more endearing than it is tempting, so you merely file it away for later strategic ridiculing. Waiting on you prong and nub, indeed. A lot has changed in the past few days.

He won’t let you jump out the window—at least, not with _him—_ and fuck if you’re waiting out there for thirty minutes while he winds his way through the hivestem’s maze of stairs and elevation platforms. You end up just gritting your teeth and leading the pitiful wuss downstairs. There aren’t many people awake yet, and the streets are nearly deserted. You actually get to the store right as it’s opening, and when you step inside you’re reminded of how much you hate this place. It’s massive, for one—more warehouse than store, really. And it’s always loud as fuck in here, even when you’re the first non-drones in the place.

KK is a terror to shop with, and you don’t even like shopping in the first place. You were completely right to resist this particular excursion. He digs to the back of the shelves for the freshest stuff, which is completely pointless since you’ll probably have whatever it is devoured by tomorrow anyways. He thinks he’s your lusus, too—tells you to put down the energy drinks and follow him to the puffgrain section. Of course, you’re contractually obligated to continue to complain about the puffgrain even if it _was_ decent, so that’s what you do until you spy something that makes you grin—a tucked-away little hallway on the third floor. You were sort of wondering if that little exhibitionist streak you showed earlier this week was a _thing_ , as KK would put it, or just a one-off fantasy brought on by pheromone delirium, but your pulse is already racing at the idea of pailing him here. What a _convenient_ way to break up the monotony.

“KK. KK, let’s go this way.” You nod your head toward the hallway.

“That’s just a hallway that leads to the load gaper block, Sollux.”

You roll your eyes. “Well maybe I’ve got to take a piss.”

He scowls. “Fine, I don’t want to fucking lose you, I’d never find you again in here.”

Your pusher skips a little beat when he says he doesn’t want to lose you. Yeah, you are _definitely_ in the mood for this if he’s going to be saying hardcore romantic shit like that. He follows you into the hallway, blissfully unaware until you press him against the wall and latch on to his neck. He nearly drops the shopping basket, so you rip it out of his hands with psionics and lower it to the floor as you move to the other side of his neck.

“Fff—Sollux, what the f—a-ahh—” His breathing has changed already, and he trails off into a moan.

You pull back and grin at him. “Come _on_ , KK. This is your only chance to try this, you know you’re never getting me out of the hive again.”

He closes his eyes and gnaws on his lip before letting out a sigh. “Fine. But make it fast, okay?”

Ehehe. You can do that.

His pants are unbuttoned and shoved down to his thighs in record time, and he practically melts against the wall when you trace your fingers along the slit of his nook. You unbutton your own pants and wrap your other arm around his back to steady him against you. Your pulse is loud enough that you can hear it even over his heavy breathing, and your mind is churning with thoughts of _ohgod what if there are other people in heat in here right now, can they smell us, do they know? do you want them to know? god, that would be so hot, someone coming across you as you take KK in public, being able to snarl at them and say that he’s yours and yours alone, and fuck, what if they watched, what if you proved it to them? god, would you want them to watch? …you just fucking might, damn it all._

KK’s bulge has wriggled out to join yours now, and you wrap a hand around both his and yours as he keens softly, obviously trying to keep his volume down. The angle is a little awkward and you’ll probably regret it later when your wrist hurts and you can’t even type, but fuck if you care right now because your lips are on his, your bulge is on his, pretty much your _everything_ is on his, and it’s amazing until KK freezes and stops breathing. When you turn your head to check, there’s nothing there.

“Sorry, I thought I saw a drone go by.”

You snicker and grab his ass. “Ehehe, I’m pretty sure the drones are okay with people pailing, KK.”

He punches you in the side and hisses through his teeth. “Not any more, fuckwad. You _do_ know they get reprogrammed if they’re not collecting pails, right?”

Yeah, you know, but your adrenaline is up after almost getting caught, so fuck if you even _care_. The rush of danger is pretty much the entire point, so you’re not going to let that stop you. You shrug and squeeze, and KK replaces bitching with low moaning. Much better. You’re practically high right now, and you just want to focus on the electric feeling of his bulge against yours, so you swallow his moans and press your tongue into his mouth to shut him up. Your senses are heightened right now, every touch sending pangs of need through you, and every time Karkat’s wandering hands grab at your ass you just want to turn him around and pound him into the wall.

Well shit, why not?

When you turn him, KK gives a muffled _oh fuck, stop_ and you jump at a loud, ringing clatter that turns out to be a pail. A pail thrown down by a very large, very mean-looking drone. Its voice is semi-mechanical, marking it as an older model.

“The empress thanks you for your contribution to the empire, and congratulates you on filling a quadrant. Please deposit your filial pail in the nearest repository to avoid culling. Late submissions will not be accepted. Writing supplies are found on the fifth floor. Have a nice evening.”

It wanders away. You turn to KK to comment, but the look on his face is hilarious and you can’t stop yourself from laughing at him.

“—the fuck?”

“Whoever re-coded that guy missed some functions somewhere. Fucking amateurs.” You start working at your bulges again. He slaps at you.

“What—Sollux, _quit_ it.”

You smile and slip a few fingers from the other hand into his nook. “But why stop, KK? We have the official go-ahead.”

He gasps at the fingers and laughs softly at your phrasing. “The hell were you planning on doing with the material anyways, fuckface?”

…you didn’t have a plan. But he doesn’t need to know that, so you shut him up with another kiss. Kissing is amazingly useful with this guy. You really hope you can still rely on that as a technique when your cycle ends, and it’s pretty much over at this point. It’s all kind of riding on whatever the conversation in the shower meant, so you really wish you had a solid answer there. Mid-pail would be a really fucking awkward time to bring that up, though, and it’s honestly pretty irrelevant right now because _he just shoved three fingers up your nook._ Your pan is gonna blow a fucking fuse before this is over, holy shit.

You pull him down to the floor while trying to move the pail with psionics, and it sort of scrapes along the floor in uneven little bursts. Your concentration is shot to all hell between the high and the fingers on your bulge and the _bulge_ on your bulge and the fingers in your nook and trying to get onto your knees without destroying someone’s genitals in the process. But nobody loses any body parts, and the bucket makes it over to you just in time. KK bites your neck and grunts out a muffled _fuck_ as he follows you. It’s probably a good thing you’re not at home or that bite would have you itching for another round. Not that you _aren’t,_ but you know you’d never convince KK. It always takes longer the second time, and he already seems frazzled at how long _this_ took, so you’ll be nice and leave him alone. For now.

You dispose of the material in the nearby load gaper and just sort of…leave it there. What the fuck else are you supposed to do? You’re sure as hell not walking around the store with it. KK is distracted enough that you’re able to smuggle a few of those energy drinks into the basket, and he even lets you fly him back up to your hive. He squeezes his eyes shut the whole way up and pries himself out of your arms the instant you’re through the window, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Or maybe just the time saved. Either way, that was the best damn shopping trip you’ve ever been on.

You manage not to pail for another eight hours, and you’re forced to admit that your cycle is probably over. Which is a good thing, really, at least in some respects. But it’s also sort of disappointing. If Karkat has noticed, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pops grubcorn and drags you to the reclining platform to watch a shitty movie. God, he has horrible taste. You don’t know what that says about the fact that you want him to like _you_.

Ten minutes in, you can’t hold your tongue any more. If you do, there’s going to be a smoking crater where the videogrub is currently resting. The other residents of the hivestem tend to look down on that sort of thing.

“This movie sucks.”

“It’s a fucking classic, you tasteless douchewaffle.”

Ten more minutes and you’re convinced the main character doesn’t need a moirail so much as a concupiscent partner. Pailing sure as hell worked to mellow _you_ out.

“That dude really needs to get laid.” He throws a piece of grubcorn at you, and it bounces off a fang as you try to catch it. God, you’re so fail sometimes.

“Sollux. Your squawk gaper. Shut it.”

You _completely_ lose your shit when the auspistice starts making out with one of her auspisticees.

“Oh my god, this was made pre-coup, she would have gotten culled for that shit. I call historical shenanigans.”

“She _does_ get culled, smartass. Did you even read the fucking title?”

“Fuck that, the title’s longer than the movie.”

“Goddamn it Sollux, you’re really starting to grate on my globes here.”

“Ehehe. I’d rather be _grinding_ on your globes, if you know what I—” A weight settles onto your lap, and a cascade of greasy grubcorn bounces off of your leg as he assaults you with a vicious kiss. Has this guy seriously never heard of positive reinforcement? All he’s doing is making you _want_ to piss him off in exchange for sloppy makeouts. And sloppy they are, holy crap. Ten seconds in and your lip is bleeding, twenty and you’re breathless, thirty and you’re being pushed flat against the platform. Forty seconds is where it gets _really_ interesting, because he kicks his pants off and starts _climbing_ you, and around fifty seconds his nook is wedged firmly against your face. Holy _fuck,_ where did this come from?

He rolls his hips down, pressing your glasses sharply against your face and nearly suffocating you. Everything is dark now—his thighs are a fucking menace, and you’re _really_ having to watch your horns, because he’s hovering right over them at this angle.

“Come on, shitstain _._ If you need something to keep your fucking mouth occupied, I’ll _give_ you something to keep it occupied.”

You retort comes out as something like “ffrkk yoo kkkkkk—” with a bunch of wet, squishy sounds mixed in. Well fuck, that’s certainly not your usual articulate comeback, now is it? KK’s fingers dig into your scalp, and he pulls you in by the hair to mash you further into his nook. Shit. You’re going to die. There will be no air, and you will die covered in KK’s mutant jizz. And honestly? That’s okay with you. Everybody’s gotta die sometime—might as well go out marinated in KK’s nook juices, right?

“Deeper, you fucking disgrace to trollkind. I _know_ your tongue is longer than that, get _in_ there.”

You let out an involuntary groan and bury yourself as deep as you can, straining your tongue to stroke the underside of his sheath as far back as you can go. Fuck, the heat may be over but there are residual pheromones down here or something, because he is _delicious_ right now, all musk and material, the taste slightly marred by the drop of sweat that just rolled down your face. He’s driving you nuts. His bulge slips out against your cheek, wet and heavy, and for all you’re fighting to breathe you _really_ want to get him off before you die. It’s a point of fucking pride now.

Except you don’t die. He pulls back to let you breathe when you start getting lightheaded, and when he comes back down this time he lets more weight fall onto you. He moans when you drag your tongue from inside his nook to halfway up his bulge—all you can reach unless he’ll fucking _move_ —and your own bulge twitches and presses against your pants at the sound. God, you’ve been too focused on breathing and eating him out to even realize it was out yet, but now it’s like an ever-present itch; you keep rubbing your legs together and hoping for some fucking friction, but it’s a pretty useless cause without something there to rub _against_. Your pants are so tight right now that it can’t even slip into your own nook, _fuck_.

KK moans and starts rocking into your face, which makes it a little difficult to stay inside as he shifts. You end up just sort of sucking at the outer rim of his nook, because it’s all you can keep a grip on, but then his bulge slithers under your squished-in glasses and startles the everliving _fuck_ out of you by trying to pry them off. You yelp, and he flicks you on the forehead.

“Don’t…hhah—don’t stop, Sollux, fuck—” His breath is heavy and airy, and it shows in his voice. Fuck, that is hot as hell. Two pats on the back to you for a job well done. Well, you’d prefer two jerks of a bulge right now, to be honest, because this is completely unfair in all the _worst_ sorts of ways, but you’ll make do if you can get him to come before you explode on the furniture. Possibly in more than one way, ehehe.

His cadence shifts into tiny, almost nonexistent circles, grinding hard and fast against your tongue. You do your best to match his frantic pace and he starts to throb, his thighs shaking to either side of your head. _Fuck yes._ He pushes himself up so you don’t _literally_ drown in his juices, and cries out what you think is a garbled version of your name so desperately that you almost come in your pants. Hot, sticky material drips liberally from his nook, coating your face and neck in a thin, translucent layer of red, and the material from his bulge spills over your fucking hair and your _horns_ , fuck, that’s—you don’t even have words for that. You’re starting to think KK either doesn’t give a fuck about taboos when it comes to pailing, or manages to be spectacularly bad at avoiding major fail during pail.

Not that you _completely_ mind, ehe. It’s just fun to pretend you— _fffffffff—red alert, invader has left the area and is now assaulting a completely different locale, fall back and regroup or all hope is lost._ He’s pressed flat against you and putting some fucking _amazing_ friction onto your bulge. You could probably get off just like this if he kept doing that long enough, but then he ups the intensity a notch because he’s Karkat and Karkat’s a douche and by douche you mean a fucking _wonderful_ douche that’s licking and sucking his own material off of your lips. You try opening your eyes because you want to _see_ his sexy-ass face up close and personal, but material drips into them from your hair. God fucking damn it, you are _disgusting_ right now.

In the time it takes for you to shake your glasses clean, KK’s weight vanishes. You warily open an eye, just in time for him to yank you sideways on the platform and make you clutch at pillows and squeal like a fucking wriggler. Shit. You hope he was too distracted with whatever the fuck he’s doing to notice. His hands shove your knees apart while you’re busy cuddling a pillow like it’s a fucking safety snuggle plane. God, you’re an embarrassment to yourself.

KK nuzzles against the inside of your thigh while he unclasps your belt, and he only stops when he literally _has_ to if he wants to get your pants any further down. You’re…pretty sure he’s purring, which is a thing that happens from time to time but it’s usually _after_ you pail so fuck if you know what’s going on. It’s also sort of hilarious to you right now that both of you are sitting here with _only_ shirts on, heh. Like what, you’re in too much of a hurry to bother?

…actually, yeah. That sounds about right. KK proceeds to illustrate the _can’t wait not gonna stop_ point by nuzzling back up your bare leg and licking a long wet stripe over the entrance of your nook, and oh _fuck_ , only the tip of his tongue makes it in, brushing against sensitive flesh for only a second before flicking back out. You tense and keen and arch against him, because holy shit why is he waiting, what the hell does he want from you? It doesn’t make him go any faster; he only meets your gaze and licks into you again and _fffffuckk,_ you are so close to coming. You reach down for your bulge—this won’t take long, god, a few strokes can probably finish you off at this point—and he slaps your hand away.

You straight-up whimper, needy and unapologetic. Just— _fuck_ your dignity, okay, _fuck_ it up the waste chute, because you _need_ to come right now and he is a grade-A douche in all the worst ways and then he starts fucking _purring into your nook_ and the vibrations have you so fucking close, shit. KK is a certifiable evil genius if he did that on purpose, because fuck if you can even hold your legs up any more. You settle for draping them around his neck and over his back, _trying_ not to smother him because you’ve just been on the receiving end of that particular brand of torture and you’d rather he finish you off than pass out, to be quite frank.

You don’t know if it’s because he hates the legs on him and wants to end it or because he was planning on doing it anyways or something else entirely, but he trails a path up your bulge and thrusts two fingers into you and _curls_ , and you lose any semblance of a goddamn mind you had left as you empty yourself in tense waves onto your shirt and _all over_ his beautiful fucking face. When you dig your fangs out of your lip and refocus your attention on him, his eyes are still fixed on you, and he’s licking you off of his lips, _fuck_.

“You—hh—you look good in my color, KK—fuck—” God, you barely have the energy for snark. You’re nearly out of the breath for it too, you can’t get a good gulp of air while you’re heaving like this. He really did a number on you, didn’t he?

He flips you off and jams his middle finger up your nook. Spasms rock through you as you come again—completely dry this time, and it fucking _hurts—_ but it manages to feel shithive levels of amazing at the same time because your body is apparently designed to be as fucked-up as possible at any given point. KK pushes off his knees and flops across your lap before pressing another sloppy kiss to your mouth—sloppy not because of technique, which, let’s face it, you’ve sort of refined over the past week, but because of your material dripping from his lips. At least you didn’t fucking come in his hair. You should have, just to be fair.

The next few minutes are spent licking each other clean and wrestling soiled shirts off, and you have to admit it’s hot as hell when he jams his tongue back in your mouth and your material mingles. Fuck, the taste of _you_ and _him_ together is intoxicating, even without pheromones. It’s a shame that you won’t be producing material for a while. Not that you’d really get the chance to pail him anyways. Unless…fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

KK’s hands float up and push your dangling glasses back onto your face. Fuck.

He slides off of you and pulls you up with him. Fuck.

He leads you to the ablution block and shoves you inside before stepping in with you. Fuck.

No, really— _FUCK_. The pheromones were pretty much gone, there was no excuse for him to pail you. You’re not a fucking _idiot,_ you can put two and two together. You slump against the side of the trap, wondering if you’ve finally gone off the deep end.

You have to know if he actually _wants_ you, or it’s going to eat away at you. How the fuck do you even broach this sort of subject? Do you just sort of dive in bulgefirst and pray?

“K—” Your voice cracks. You clear your throat and try again. “KK, are we—”

“We’re whatever you want to be, dumbass.”


	8. Epilogue

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] \--

CG: HEY ASSBUCKET, YOU THERE?  
CG: I SWEAR I WILL SHIT IN YOUR RECUPERACOON IF YOU IGNORE ME RIGHT NOW.  
TA: holy fuck, what do you even want? you already ruiined one 2iide of my ‘coon.  
CG: DON’T PRETEND YOU DIDN’T HAVE A HAND IN THAT.  
TA: ehehe, iif ii remember correctly both of our hand2 were iinvolved.   
TA: anyway2, iim bu2y.  
CG: NOT TOO BUSY FOR THIS.  
TA: iif you want me two magnamiinou2ly forget that you are a ma22iive fucktwat long enough two hear you out, you had better ju2t tell me what you want and pray ii even care.  
CG: MY CYCLE STARTED.  
TA: oh 2hiit, that wa2 fa2t.  
TA: 2ound2 liike fun, iill be riight over.  
CG: THANKS.  
CG: <3  
TA: <3

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA] \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and they pailed snarkily ever after. The End.
> 
> I love hearing from you guys, so if you've got something to say or something to show me, you can talk to me either here or on [my tumblr](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com/) (NSFW). I hope you enjoyed the story—it certainly spiraled out of control, but it was a ton of fun to write. Huge thanks to [grimreaperchibi](http://grimreaperchibi.tumblr.com/) for the prompt!


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